Naomi Shihab Nye

When I was a child, my mother emphasized the virtue of kindness. I can still hear her soft voice encouraging me to be kind to my siblings or be kind to my friends. But what did kindness look like?

When I was a child, kindness often meant sharing my toys or taking one of my siblings along to the library–when I really wanted to be alone. And what was the benefit? My mother’s smile or even the surprise of a fun adventure with my sibling.

Ann in 1st grade

It doesn’t take long to see there is a great need for kindness in the world–often on a grand scale. Sometimes we may even feel overwhelmed by the need we see on the news–refugees fleeing from Syria, flood and earthquake victims, the families of drone strike victims. What do our individual acts of kindness mean when stretched onto the world canvas? How can we make a difference?

When we feel overwhelmed by the needs of our communities, often the first response is shut down, to turn away. If we can just avert our eyes, then we are safe from acting. And then I remember what a friend who works at Baltimore’s Healthcare for the Homeless told me: “Even if you don’t want to or can’t give a person money, please look at them. Our clients say the worst pain of being homeless is the feeling that they are invisible.”

Digging deeper into my psych after that encounter, I had to admit why it was hard to look into the eyes of people who are homeless: It’s that chilling realization that is could happen to me. And in that moment, I know what I had to do. I resolved that even if I didn’t have money to give or didn’t choose to give money, I could give my attention. I could say “I’m praying for you,” or “God bless you.” It was in realizing that I, too, could lose something precious that I found a simple way to be kind. It was in realizing my connection that I could reach out.

Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem “Kindness” exorts readers to do much the same thing. She starts by saying “Before you know what kindness really is/you must lose things,…” Enjoy the poem. What do you have to lose?

Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

When I was a child, my mother emphasized the virtue of kindness. I can still hear her soft voice encouraging me to be kind to my siblings or be kind to my friends. But what did kindness look like?

When I was a child, kindness often meant sharing my toys or taking one of my siblings along to the library–when I really wanted to be alone. And what was the benefit? My mother’s smile or even the surprise of a fun adventure with my sibling.

Ann in 1st grade

It doesn’t take long to see there is a great need for kindness in the world–often on a grand scale. Sometimes we may even feel overwhelmed by the need we see on the news–refugees fleeing from Syria, flood and earthquake victims, the families of drone strike victims. What do our individual acts of kindness mean when stretched onto the world canvas? How can we make a difference?

When we feel overwhelmed by the needs of our communities, often the first response is shut down, to turn away. If we can just avert our eyes, then we are safe from acting. And then I remember what a friend who works at Baltimore’s Healthcare for the Homeless told me: “Even if you don’t want to or can’t give a person money, please look at them. Our clients say the worst pain of being homeless is the feeling that they are invisible.”

Digging deeper into my psych after that encounter, I had to admit why it was hard to look into the eyes of people who are homeless: It’s that chilling realization that is could happen to me. And in that moment, I know what I had to do. I resolved that even if I didn’t have money to give or didn’t choose to give money, I could give my attention. I could say “I’m praying for you,” or “God bless you.” It was in realizing that I, too, could lose something precious that I found a simple way to be kind. It was in realizing my connection that I could reach out.

Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem “Kindness” exorts readers to do much the same thing. She starts by saying “Before you know what kindness really is/you must lose things,…” Enjoy the poem. What do you have to lose?

Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

Naomi Shihab Nye reminds us of our duty to one another when she says, “We’re not going to be able to live in this world if we’re not willing to do what he’s doing with one another.”

I love this poem because of the simple human love and care that it explores. A father carrying a sleeping child across the street in the rain. We immediately feel the tender cargo—the child’s soft cheek nuzzled next to ours, the tiny hand that rests on your shoulder. It’s easy to carry a child.

Yet Nye charges us to go further with the idea of caring. How do we bring that same generosity into the wider world? We often have numerous chances in a day to be kind to another person—letting an elderly person go ahead of you in line, holding the elevator for a colleague who’s carrying a stack of papers, giving water to a homeless person on the street.

When I think about the freedom to care for someone, I think of that unbridled giving the Nye reminds us of in her poem. I know of a meditation group that makes “blessing bags” to give to homeless people. The bags contain water, juice, snacks, and personal care items. But even more important than the actual items in the bag is the spirit in which they are given.

Shoulders

~Naomi Shihab Nye

A man crosses the street in rain,
stepping gently, looking two times north and south,
because his son is asleep on his shoulder.

No car must splash him.
No car drive too near to his shadow.

This man carries the world’s most sensitive cargo
but he’s not marked.
Nowhere does his jacket say FRAGILE,
HANDLE WITH CARE.

His ear fills up with breathing.
He hears the hum of a boy’s dream
deep inside him.

We’re not going to be able
to live in this world
if we’re not willing to do what he’s doing
with one another.

The road will only be wide.
The rain will never stop falling.

How might you expand your circle of caring? Who or what calls to you for more attention?

Nominated for Pushcart Prize – 2014 and 2016

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Ann Bracken is a gifted and dedicated educator, expressive arts coach, and poet. She infuses her work with a refined aesthetic sensibility that engages her clients and creates an environment where positive change and new learning can happen in unique ways. Michel Groter

"...positive change and new learning can happen in unique ways."

The opportunity to be with other women, to engage in purposeful journaling, and to receive guidance from Ann enabled me to begin the next chapter of my life. Becky Salerno

"purposeful journaling....enabled me to begin next chapter in my life."

“I read through the whole book the day I got it, went back to reread and underline all the things I loved so I could tell you about them…then life took over. The short of it is that I absolutely love it…” Under the twigs of youthful dreams” ” wanting the sweet relief of wine in her veins” ” blunting the tide and inviting me in” ” and always the martinis” ” between truth and loyalty” “my good night hugs are not returned by either parent” ” her blood rivering down the drain” ” the invisible boul…

"I read through the book the day I got it."

“I have just finished listening to your interview. You were very eloquent. Your poems are very effective at conjuring up a picture and the emotion of the moment. The interview was also educational and gave insight in to the struggles you have had, but indicated that there was hope as you move forward.” Jane T.

"hope for moving forward."

Many of the most reluctant readers and writers in the grade were writing some amazing poems. The students felt that they could be creative due to an acceptance by Ms. Bracken for all students’ work. Liz Morris, Reading Specialist, Howard County Public Schools

"...most reluctant readers and writers in the grade were writing some amazing poems."

Ann Bracken is an out-of-the-box thinker. She is called to shed light on the complex, universal issues of human nature, and she does it so creatively. Bev Hitchins

"an out-of-the-box thinker."

“It will be helpful for to others and enlightening. Bonnie A.

Book endorsement

“In clear, everyday language, Ann Bracken shows us the power of words to redeem the worst sort of misery. “The Altar of Innocence” chronicles the ultimately triumphant journey of a sensitive child through the minefield of alcoholism and depression. Ann’s beautiful spirit shines through in every poem.” Barbara Quick, , author of Vivaldi’s Virgins and A Golden Web

"triumphant journey of a sensitive child..."

Your poems are moving. You are able to present the painful reality without being hard on either of your parents. I think they would be very proud of you. I think your poetry does offer hope and healing to those in similar or even just emotionally difficult situations. Jane M.

"your poetry offers hope and healing....."

This poetry residency made the children love poetry in a new way. Ann’s passion for poetry rubbed off on every student and helped them to be successful. Michele Barron, Teacher, Howard County Public Schools